Shattered Silk (8 page)

She forgot Horton as soon as she closed the door. There had been no comment from Alexander, but his face was now visible behind the grilled front of the carrier. Both eyes were hidden by hair, but something about his pose told her Alexander was not in a good mood.

Nerving herself for the encounter, she opened the carrier. "Okay, Alexander, this is it. I don't like it any better than you do, so don't give me a hard time."

She retreated behind the carrier, hoping it would blunt the fury of Alexander's attack. To her surprise he gave her only a cursory glance and then set out on a tour of the house. Because of his short legs and poor vision, this took an interminable time, necessitating the prolonged sniffing of every piece of furniture. Karen was tempted to hurry him along with a well-placed kick, but she was afraid to press her luck, even though she felt like an attendant pacing with measured steps behind some arthritic-ridden dowager empress.

Not until he had inspected every room did Alexander return to the kitchen, where he sat down with a thump and gave a hoarse demanding bark. Karen ran to get his food dish.

After eating, Alexander went outside and smelled the yard, pausing long enough to lift his leg and sprinkle one of Ruth's prize roses. Karen was too intimidated to protest. At least Alexander knew what needed to be done; she wouldn't have to stand in the doorway exhorting him as she had heard Rachel do. Rachel was so nice-minded she refused to use even the polite euphemisms. "Now be a big doggie," she would cry, in a horrible falsetto. "Be a good, big doggie, Alexander."

Karen had hoped Alexander would prefer to spend the day out-of-doors. The yard was fenced and shady; but it was a hot day and Alexander didn't like hot weather. Before she could close the back door, he had returned. This time he went straight to the parlor, where he collapsed with a thud and a grunt on Ruth's treasured pastel needlepoint hearthrug.

Karen made an involuntary movement of protest, but before she could order him off the rug Alexander shook his head vehemently, producing one eye that fixed itself on Karen with the clearest message she had ever seen in a single optic. She stepped back. Alexander wriggled into a comfortable position and began to snore.

Annoyed as she was by the dog's air of aristocratic hauteur, an air that accorded strangely with his distinctly plebeian appearance, Karen was also amused. Alexander had good taste. Perhaps the elegance of the room appealed to him. When Ruth was at home there were always flowers in the big silver bowls, according to the seasons-tulips and narcissus followed by lilac and sprays of dogwood, then roses and baby's breath, and, to round out the year, great bunches of chrysanthemums in the pink and lavender shades Ruth favored.

The dog's snores were rather soothing. I'll make up his bed for him later, in the kitchen, Karen told herself. In her heart of hearts she knew she had already lost the fight. Alexander had chosen his place and there he would stay. She would probably find herself arranging flowers in the silver bowls, to please his aristocratic tastes.

The soft chime of the clock on the landing reminded her that she was late. She hurried upstairs, tugging at the belt of her dress. Julie had grudgingly given her a few hours off so she could accompany Mrs. Mac to the airport, but this was Julie's last day; she was leaving for New England that evening, and for the next two weeks Karen would be in charge of the shop.

Alexander was still asleep when she left the house, feeling decidedly self-conscious in the vintage dress Julie had insisted she wear. It was an Edwardian afternoon gown, formal enough for a modern wedding, with a high, boned collar and a semi-train edged with lace. Karen had spent much of her spare time that week washing and ironing and mending and altering the dress. It was still too tight, but, she thought hopefully, not quite as tight as it had been when she first tried it on. One of Julie's customers was coming in from Potomac to see the dress and the other gowns Karen carried, chastely enclosed in a garment bag.

Karen had to give Julie credit. It was decent of her to let an employee use the premises to sell her own merchandise. Not that Julie's motives were entirely altruistic. She got her cut. Besides, Mrs. Mac had graciously allowed Julie to acquire a few bits of bric-a-brac, china, and crystal. Julie hoped for more-much, much more. It had been her idea that Karen should model her wares whenever possible, and Karen had been forced to agree that it never hurt to advertise.

In fact, she attracted less attention than she had expected. Georgetown was blase about unusual costumes. A few people stared, and one girl stopped her to ask where she had bought the dress. So Julie was right, Karen thought; one potential customer in a three-block walk wasn't bad.

Her positive mood didn't last, though; Julie's behavior that afternoon would have driven a saint to homicide. She showered Karen with instructions as confused as they were impossible to carry out; and when, for the sixth or seventh time, she clutched her flyaway hair and moaned, "Oh, God, I must be crazy to leave town!" Karen's temper snapped.

"Then don't. Lord knows I've got enough to do without running your business for you!"

"Oh, sweetie, don't pay any attention to me," Julie cried. "You know how I am-"

"To my sorrow. You don't even need me, Rob could handle things here. And if an emergency should arise, you're only a few hours away."

"Don't you dare call unless it's a real emergency." Julie's eyes took on a faraway look. "I have a really interesting two weeks planned, if you know what I mean."

"Nothing will go wrong," Karen said. "Why don't you leave right now? You aren't accomplishing anything except driving both of us up the wall."

"And me," came a voice from the rear of the shop. "Listening to you two screaming at each other is absolutely shattering my nerves. I shall burst into tears if I hear one more unkind word."

Julie paid no attention to this pathetic speech. She glanced at her watch. "I can't leave until Mrs. Schwarz comes, she'd be horribly offended. Damn the woman, where is she? She said three, and it's already three-thirty."

Mrs. Schwarz arrived at 4:10, apologizing and complaining about the traffic on the bridge. It was a handy excuse for anyone coming into the District, because it was usually true.

She shrieked with rapture at Karen's dress and asked to try it on. Karen complied, though one look at Mrs. Schwarz's comfortable contours convinced her the customer hadn't a prayer of getting into the dress. She did get into it, with a great deal of assistance from Julie and Karen, and the collapse of only one side seam. However, the dress refused to meet at the back.

Mrs. Schwarz said wistfully, "Perhaps if I wore a tighter girdle…"

"I'm afraid not," Karen said, looking at the six-inch gap.

"You couldn't let it out?"

"I've let it out as far as it will go." Karen added, "I shouldn't wear it either; it was made for a girl with a tiny waist and hardly any bust. You know, it's impossible to wear clothing like this if it's even the teeniest bit too small. The fabric is old and fragile, and the styles weren't designed for active women."

"I suppose you're right." Mrs. Schwarz was appeased by the tactful phrase "teeniest bit too small," though it most certainly did not apply in her case. "Oh, well, such is life. I hope I haven't damaged the dress, dear. If I have, I'll be happy to pay-"

"No, that's all right," Karen said, carefully skinning the dress over Mrs. Schwarz's head. "One of the seams gave a little, that's all. I just basted it."

"Oh, you do your own alterations? That's nice to know. I must tell my friends about you."

Mrs. Schwarz bought one of the other dresses, a turn-of-the-century day dress of gold linen, hand-embroidered at the neck and hem. After she had departed in triumph, promising a return visit when Karen had more clothes ready, Karen stared in disbelief at Mrs. Schwarz's check. It was made out for two hundred and fifty dollars.

"I wouldn't have dared ask that much," she exclaimed. "I must say, Julie, I admire your nerve."

"You won't get prices like that out in the boonies," Julie said sourly. "That's fifty you owe me. I ought to get more, actually, since I set the price, but since it's you…"

"She must be crazy," Karen said. "The dress didn't even look good on her."

"That may be your opinion and it may be mine, but I suggest you keep such opinions to yourself. And remember, don't accept a check from anyone except the people on that list I gave you. Not even if the customer arrives in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes and is swathed in mink. Some of the richest people are the biggest crooks."

"I remember."

"And if I find a charge that hasn't been okayed, I'll take it out of your salary."

"All right, all right!"

Julie wrung her hands. "Oh, God! I must be mad to do this!"

BY
the time she finally persuaded Julie to leave, Karen had a splitting headache. Almost immediately Rob pranced away, golden curls agleam-"I anticipate a most interesting evening, my dear; I must save my strength!"- leaving the task of locking up to Karen. It was a complex procedure, involving an alarm system and an arrangement of steel grilles, and she performed it with painstaking concentration. It did not improve her mood to realize that if Rob's evening was as interesting as he hoped, he would probably be late to work next day.

As she headed homeward, holding her flounces high above the dirty sidewalk, she wondered uneasily what Alexander had been up to during her absence. Mrs. MacDougal let him roam freely among her treasures, and even Rachel admitted grudgingly that he was not destructive; but it was impossible to predict what he might do in a new environment, particularly if he resented the change.

Karen's steps quickened, even though she knew it was silly to hurry now. Alexander had had all afternoon to work his will.

He was not on the hearthrug, nor was that precious article damaged except for the inevitable accumulation of dog hair. Karen called. There was no answer.

She found Alexander in the kitchen standing by the back door. It wasn't difficult to deduce what he wanted, and she praised him effusively as she let him out. By a simple twitch of his shoulders Alexander expressed his contempt for this transparent attempt to win his approval.

He seemed content to stay outside, so Karen thankfully removed her elaborate and uncomfortable dress and settled down at the kitchen table with a glass of iced tea and the mail. Most of it was for Pat-professional journals, appeals for money from various causes worthy and unworthy, and a few bills. Karen put these aside to be dealt with later; her aunt and uncle had set up an account in her name so that she could pay the household expenses. She drew on it for her own needs, because she had to- the wages Julie gave her barely covered expenses-but she was keeping track of everything she spent on herself, with the intention of paying it back as soon as she could.

The only thing for her was a letter from a lawyer in Dubuque. It was the fourth such epistle she had received. She had not opened any of them, and after hesitating for a moment, she laid this one aside. Her headache was subsiding, but she was in no mood to cope with the painful emotions the letter would undoubtedly arouse. Except for the brief note in the box of her clothes, Jack had not communicated directly with her. Perhaps it was unfair to blame him. She hadn't written or called him either.

I suppose I ought to find a lawyer, she thought listlessly. Another unpleasant duty she had put off--Well, she couldn't do anything about it until Monday. Offices were closed on the weekend and office workers, including lawyers, were relaxing at home, picnicking, entertaining friends. Enjoying themselves. Unlike some people, who had nothing to look forward to except the company of a homely, malevolent dog, and a pile of old clothes to mend.

At least she could get out of the house that evening. She had an appointment with another of Mrs. MacDougal's friends, who had old laces and linens and a few pieces of clothing she might be willing to sell. Such visits had all the fascination of a voyage of exploration into unknown lands; one never knew what would turn up, junk or jewels, treasure or trash. In this case Karen's anticipation was tempered with mild trepidation, for Mrs. Mac had warned her that Mrs. Ferris was a very old friend indeed-"practically gaga" had been her appraisal.

Karen had protested. "I can't take advantage of someone who is senile. And suppose she changes her mind later, and accuses me of cheating or robbing her?"

"Oh, she has her lucid moments. Just make sure she signs a receipt and get the housekeeper to witness it. Betsy is a good soul, she's been with Joan Ferris for years."

Alexander demanded entry, so Karen let him in and fed him. He was only supposed to eat once a day, but she had no intention of trying to enforce rules Alexander didn't choose to obey. It was far too late in the game to turn him into a well-behaved, well-trained dog, even if she had felt strong enough to make the attempt. He deserved a little extra treat anyway. He must be missing his owner; he hadn't lunged at her ankles yet.

There was nothing wrong with his appetite. He polished off his food to the last crumb, belched, and then headed for the parlor, where he lay down on the rug before Karen could stop him. I'll do something about the rug later, she told herself cravenly. There's no time now, I mustn't be late. Mrs. Ferris probably goes to bed at sunset.

However, before she could leave the house the telephone rang. Karen had been thinking about the letters from the lawyer; it came as something of a shock to hear the speaker identify himself as a member of the same profession.

"I don't suppose you remember me, miss-I beg your pardon, it's Mrs., isn't it? I'm afraid I can't recall your married name."

"Nevitt. But it won't be my name long."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's why you called, isn't it? About my divorce? I do remember you, Mr. Bates, and I had planned to call you, but I must say I'm surprised Ruth would take it upon herself to talk to you without consulting me first."

"You refer, I presume, to the younger Mrs. MacDougal?"

"You are her lawyer, aren't you?"

"Our firm represents Mr. and Mrs. Patrick MacDougal, yes. We also represent Mrs. MacDougal senior." He waited just long enough for Karen to realize that she had jumped to conclusions. Then he went on in tones of freezing politeness, "I assure you that no one has approached me on the matter of your domestic difficulties. I called about another matter entirely."

"I'm sorry," Karen muttered. "I'm a little upset, Mr. Bates, or I wouldn't have said that. Please excuse me."

"Certainly." The lawyer's voice thawed slightly. "I understand. Ordinarily we don't handle divorce cases, but if you would like me to recommend someone…"

"I would appreciate that. Perhaps I might call you one day next week. I do hope nothing has happened to Mrs. MacDougal?"

"So far as I know, she is winging her way westward," the lawyer replied poetically. "It is not Mrs. MacDougal but her automobile that is the object of my concern."

"The Rolls? What's happened to it?"

That, Mr. Bates explained, was the problem. The car had not been delivered to the garage at the appointed time. The owner of the garage had not become concerned for several hours. He had been busy, and like everyone else in Washington, he considered traffic delays part of the normal scheme of things. Mr. Bates had not been notified until midafternoon, and it had taken several more hours to convince the alarmed lawyer that the car had indeed been stolen.

"But that's impossible," Karen exclaimed. "The Rolls is unique. How could anyone make off with it?"

"How
it was done is still unknown.
That
it was done is, unfortunately, beyond any shadow of doubt. The chauffeur's quarters have been cleared out and the man himself has vanished. A Virginia state trooper saw the car heading south on Route 95 shortly after one p.m. The Virginia police are presently making inquiries along all the local routes leading off 95 between Occoquan and Fredericksburg, but they hold little hope of success. It is likely that the automobile was driven into a large closed van, which may now be well on its way to… anywhere."

"Oh, dear."

"You may well say so," remarked Mr. Bates morosely.

"Joseph-poor Joseph! How is he taking it?"

"Very badly indeed. He blames himself. Quite unnecessarily; it is no one's fault. All precautions were taken."

"Yes, I'm sure they were. Is there anything I can do? Look at mug shots, or-"

"No, no, certainly not. The young man had no local criminal record. I hired him myself; you can hardly suppose I would neglect to check that."

"I'm sure you did everything you could."

"I hope Mrs. MacDougal shares your sentiments," said Mr. Bates. "I telephoned you only to inquire whether you have in your possession any of Mrs. MacDougal's property."

"Well, really, Mr. Bates!"

"Pray don't misunderstand. I expressed myself badly; I am, I confess, somewhat distraught." Karen could almost see the lawyer mopping his brow. She didn't blame him; Mrs. MacDougal might not hold him responsible, but she could certainly be annoyed, and she was not in the habit of mincing words.

The lawyer went on, "It is necessary to assume that this was not, in police parlance, a one-man job. Whether the others involved were professional thieves or only amateurs is as yet unknown. It is probable that the automobile was the sole object of their interest. However, the police are keeping a close eye on the house, on the remote possibility that the miscreants may take advantage of Mrs. MacDougal's absence to loot the place. Mercifully the most valuable of the antiques have been stored and Mrs. MacDougal's jewels and silver are in her vault at the bank; but, knowing her eccentric habit of generosity, I thought it possible that she might have given you something to keep for her, or perhaps-"

Karen couldn't endure the careful, pedantic speech any longer. She knew what the lawyer was driving at, and she didn't like the idea at all.

"You mean they-he-that big hulk of a chauffeur-might try to break in here?"

"No, no, you mistake my meaning. I consider it most unlikely. Quite unlikely indeed. I have no desire to alarm you-"

"Well, you have!"

"Then she did give you-"

"Just her clothes."

The lawyer emitted a sharp bark of laughter. "I hardly think thieves would bother about a bundle of old clothing. That is all?"

"Yes. Oh, and the jewelry-a necklace and earrings. But it's not valuable, just semi-precious stones and enamel. She handed it to me when she got out of the car this morning-a little memento-"

"Jewelry." Mr. Bates' voice sounded hollow. "It isn't, by chance, of black enamel bordered in silver-gilt, set with rosettes of pearls, emeralds, and diamonds?"

Karen's hand flew to her throat. "Diamonds? Emeralds? I thought they were peridots and rhinestones-"

"The stones themselves are not valuable," said Mr. Bates. "However, the jewelry belonged to Dolley Madison. It is depicted in the Warren portrait, and its pedigree is authenticated."

"Oh, my-oh, good Lord! Honestly, I had no idea- I'll bring it right over to your office. I don't want-"

"Please calm yourself, Mrs. Nevitt. If Mrs. MacDougal gave you the jewelry, she wants you to have the jewelry, and therefore you must keep the jewelry. I do suggest that you place it immediately in your safe-deposit box-"

"What safe-deposit box? I don't have one."

"Then you had better get one," said Mr. Bates dryly. "Is that all? You are certain she didn't give you the Beall emeralds or ask you to store her collection of Revere silver? I am relieved to hear it. Though the necklace and earrings are historic treasures, they are not intrinsically valuable, so I don't believe you need worry."

After he had hung up Karen took off the necklace and sat staring at it. So much for her expertise on the subject of antique jewelry! She hadn't even dated it correctly. It wasn't Victorian but Georgian, dating from the early part of the nineteenth century, before Victoria ascended the throne.

So Mr. Bates didn't believe she needed to worry. He was fairly sure the necklace and earrings would not attract a thief. It was nice that Mr. Bates was so unconcerned.

Even if the gang to which the chauffeur belonged decided to go after Mrs. MacDougal's other property, they might not be interested in the jewelry. The individual stones weren't worth much, and the set could not be pawned; it would be instantly recognized. But the same thing was true of the Rolls. And Horton knew she had the jewelry; not only had he seen Mrs. Mac give her the case, but she had removed one of the earrings during the drive back from the airport-held it up in full view of anyone who might glance into the rearview mirror.

Her fingers moved respectfully over the smooth surface of the enamel, the settings of the small gems. James Madison, fourth President of the United States, might have fastened the clasp around Dolley's plump neck. Dolley had worn it or carried it with her when she and the President escaped from Washington with the flames of the burning city reddening the sky behind them-the only time the capital had been sacked and destroyed by an invading enemy. Dolley had taken it all in her stride-a plump, pleasure-loving little woman who liked to wear turbans because they made her look taller. Washington Irving, among other admirers, had praised her beauty and contrasted it with the feeble face and diminutive figure of her husband. Pretty Dolley, with a pretty woman's fondness for nice clothes and jewelry…

The only reason Karen knew these things was that, by a strange coincidence, she had been reading about Dolley Madison only the night before, in the Georgetown legends book Julie had given her. Dolley wasn't really a Georgetown ghost, but she was certainly one of the most peripatetic of Washington's revenants, and as the author frankly admitted, distinguished spirits lent a book a certain cachet. Among other places, Dolley had been seen(?) in one of the old mansions on Dumbarton Avenue, where she must have danced and partied a number of times.

Karen put the necklace back in the case and checked to make sure the earrings were solidly fastened. She couldn't get to the bank tonight. Where could she hide the jewelry in the meantime? Then she remembered the secret drawer in Ruth's wardrobe. It wasn't very secret, since the hinges could be seen by anyone who looked closely, but it was the best she could do for Dolley at the moment.

Not that she really thought she was in danger of being burglarized. Horton had not struck her as the type who went in for esoteric objets d'art. Cars, yes. Perhaps he had simply fallen in love with the glamorous old automobile, as a woman might with a gown or a jewel, and had persuaded a few friends to join him in what must have seemed an irresistible opportunity. If she had not been so distressed on Mrs. MacDougal's account, Karen could have laughed when she remembered Horton's sudden descent from the formal manners of a hired employee. And the sheer effrontery of his last remark…The five-dollar tip must have seemed a howling joke to him when he was about to make off with a car worth hundreds of thousands.